Page 37 of Adored by the Grumpy Ghost (Mapletown Monster Mates #1)
“You deserve a man who can take care of you. Who can contribute more to your household than just cooking your meals. Putting the financial strain on your shoulders isn’t fair, and I won’t do that.”
I think about all the married couples who work so much they barely see each other.
Or the exhausted parents whose focus is entirely on their children and barely have enough energy to steal five minutes together without a kid’s wailing cry slicing through the moment.
Or the couples whose love died years before, and they can’t hold a conversation anymore without being reminded of everything they’ve come to resent about the other.
Compared to them, what Winston and I have seems pretty goddamn magical. What we have is easy. It’s tender and comfortable. With him, I’ve become a version of myself that I actually like, and I haven’t felt that way in a long time.
“I won’t get in the way of you finding the man who truly deserves you. A man who has a job. Who isn’t anchored to a pile of wood and nails. Who has a fucking heartbeat, Natalie.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, unable to stop the tears from falling. “You’re pushing me away. Why? Because you’re scared?” My sobs are loud and wet and shake my shoulders.
He says nothing. Just stares at me for a long time. His gaze is distant and guarded.
For a moment, I think he’s going to take it all back.
The flicker of hope in my chest has me reaching for his hand, and this time, he lets me take it.
“Please, Winston.” I swipe at my cheeks and eyes, trying to clear my vision so I can hold his gaze.
“Did Lindsay say something to you? Because she doesn–”
“No.” His tone is firm, unyielding. “This has nothing to do with Lindsay.”
“I don’t want this to end. Why are you doing this?”
It looks like it shatters his insides to release my gaze, but he does, pulling his hand away. He rubs his temples, and I wait. Hoping he’ll come to his senses. Hoping he’ll remember what we’ve built, and how much we make sense.
“Natalie,” he says, finally. There’s an edge to his voice that I haven’t heard since the first night we met, when he spoke to me like I was a bug he intended to squash with his boot. “Don’t you realize what you’re doing?”
I don’t know what he’s talking about. I search my mind, my memories, and find nothing. Asking him to clarify terrifies me. The words never come, so I just shake my head.
He sighs, his gaze swirling with pity, and my stomach sinks. “You’re doing the thing you never wanted to do again.”
I shiver, the word, No , playing over in my head as the room feels like it’s shrinking around me.
“You’re begging me to stay.”
He doesn’t need to continue, but he does. A final twist of the knife.
“Even though I’ve already left.”
What Kyle said to me. He’s actually using my biggest regret as a weapon against me.
Things move in a patchy blur after that.
I hear myself say, “Okay. Fine. I’ll go.
” I’m in my bedroom, tossing unfolded clothes into my suitcase.
I don’t remember entering the bathroom, but my toiletry bag is full at my feet when I text Vyla, asking if I can come over tonight.
I’m in my car when she texts back, asking if I’m okay, telling me she already made the guest bed, and she can’t wait to have a sleepover with a human.
Vyla: I already bought six bags of Doritos. How many bags do you typically eat per meal?
I don’t really eat Doritos. Is that what you thought humans eat? You’ve seen me eat at the bar.
Vyla: The only overnight human guest I’ve had is my ex’s twelve-year-old daughter.
Vyla: Whoops! That’s my bad. You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to.
With the way I’m feeling right now, I’d gladly pair a bag of Cool Ranch with a bottle of Rosé for dinner.
Vyla: I gotchu covered, Normie!
I wish I could laugh at Vyla’s antics, but I don’t have it in me. Not with everything that just happened.
Winston and I may have exchanged final words, or a hug, but I don’t remember. What I do know is that when Mom died, I was certain my heart had been broken so irrevocably that I’d never be able to smile again. Why does this feel worse?
The only times I return to Caraway Manor during the following week are to let Ivan and his team inside, and to lock it up three days later once they’re done.
I don’t go inside, and I don’t peek my head around the house toward the garden either.
Ethel deserves a goodbye, and I feel bad that I didn’t give her one, but I think if I saw her face, the truth would spill out of me, and I’d end up in the fetal position until Winston discovered me.
I’m not prepared for that level of embarrassment.
I let Lindsay know that I’ll be staying at Vyla’s until further notice via text, and she’s more than fine with it.
It seems odd, given her initial concerns about having a house she owns sit there unoccupied while she lives so far away.
Though, maybe knowing Winston is there is good enough for her.
It’s not like he’d let anyone break in and start stealing things.
Part of me hates him. A big part. I also feel foolish and manipulated.
Is this how Lindsay felt with her baby boy toy?
I suppose it’s better that Winston didn’t ghost me, but the jarring rejection when I was starting to fall in love and thought everything was fine still cuts me deep.
The ache in my chest that used to be a warm, happy place filled by Winston and his ridiculous rules, his boyish grin, and the safety I felt in his arms throbs.
I can’t help but rub the spot, trying to soothe it.
I’ve been through heartbreak before, and just like then, I was sure I’d never recover.
I will, though, right? It won’t always be like this?
I won’t always be on the verge of collapsing into a puddle of tears and insecurity and broken shards of unrequited love, will I?
I’m not sure I can take a lifetime of this. I can barely get through an entire day.
Vyla has been an exceptional shoulder to cry on.
She hasn’t mentioned Winston at all, but she lets me cry when I need to, and attempts to distract me the rest of the time with tales of her sexual pursuits, gossip about Dominic and his ex, and her favorite show, which is a sitcom on an app I’ve never heard of about a group of twenty-something monsters trying to find themselves while living next door to each other in a fictional monster town.
Basically Friends , but with beasts I never knew existed until a month ago.
When I call Lindsay to vent, she listens, offering me kind words, promising me I’ll be okay, that I’ll find someone worth my time and energy.
“Winston was worth it,” I point out.
“And yet…” she trails off. I can’t argue with her.
Winston was worth it, until he destroyed me.
A week goes by, and then another. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I check my phone several hundred times a day, just in case Winston sent me an I’m sorry. I love you. Please come home text. He never does.
I create a steady, joyless routine of waking, working, eating, and sleeping.
I sleep a lot. My body clearly needs it, and during my waking hours, I do my best to look and act normal, but I’m not fooling anyone.
Dominic offers to help any way he can. Vyla randomly picks me up and swings me around in a tight hug during our shifts, just to see if I’ll crack a smile.
I do. It’s impossible not to, and I’m grateful I’ve made such a great friend here.
She also keeps my pint glass filled with fresh apple cider, my new favorite drink. The cider king seems to have noticed as well, since he keeps dropping off gallon jugs for free, winking at me before he leaves.
Lindsay checks in daily. She sends me gift cards to the few restaurants in town, reminds me to stay hydrated, and assures me that it can’t get any worse than this.
As much as I appreciate it, it reminds me of Winston, and when he’d take one look at my lips and press a full glass of water to my mouth, ordering me to drink.
When I cry myself to sleep each night, I can’t tell if the tears are for Mom, Winston, my current lot in life, or all three.
On the morning of the 5K race, I show up at the volunteer tent ten minutes early with a large, salted caramel latte in hand.
The sky is a bright haze of clouds, making it hard to decide if my sunglasses are necessary or not.
I’m cozy in my fitted navy-blue joggers and gray hoodie, and let out a contented sigh when the wind whips around me, kicking up fallen maple leaves around the entrance of the tent.
This is the best time of year and somehow feels even better in Mapletown.
“Natalie,” Mayor Crane says with a warm smile. “Lovely to see you. How are you doing?”
I nod, trying to smile. “Great,” I lie. “Excited for the race to begin.”
She puts a hand on my arm and gives me a knowing look.
“I know you’re not okay, but I need you to hear me.
First of all, heartbreak is an inconvenient bitch, and I’m sorry you’re going through it.
Please keep in mind that I’m a witch, part of a coven, and a member of the most powerful family of witches in the country.
” She lowers her voice, looking over her shoulder.
“If you’d like a hex put on someone, turning their dick into a shriveled banana, turning their carpets into sheets of Legos, unleashing a curable but messy illness on them and everyone they care about, you let me know, okay? ”
I laugh, thanking her with a hug. She squeezes me back, and I feel an overwhelming sense of belonging, for the first time in, maybe ever. “Was there a second of all?”
“Ah, yes,” she says. “I’ve said this before, but you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you’d like. The zoning laws require property to be transferred to and from those with monster blood, but I’d be happy to make an exception for you, should you ever decide to buy real estate.”
“Oh,” I say, honored. “I’m probably a few decades away from that, but I really appreciate it.”
She pats me on the shoulder. “What I meant was, you have the town’s support. You’re one of us, regardless of your boring normie blood.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever received such a wonderful compliment. I ride the high of feeling at home among the monsters of Mapletown throughout the race, cheering on the runners, offering cups of water, and breaking down the tent long after the race is over.
It was a nice few hours to forget the pain slicing through my middle.
But it all comes crashing in on me once I’m back in my room at Vyla’s place.
And the next thought I have––one I know I shouldn’t have and certainly don’t want to have––is whether anyone has made Winston feel as loved and supported as the people of Mapletown have made me feel.
The likelihood of that is tragically low, and as furious as I am at him, my heart squeezes on his behalf, wishing I could be that person.